The men laugh again, this time at Maraud’s expense. A page appears to refill d’Albret’s goblet just then. With a wave of his hand, he dismisses us. As I turn toward the door, I allow my gaze to flit to Count Angoulême. He is deep in conversation with the woman on his left. Even so, it is not until we are free of the grand salon and filing into the lower hall that I allow myself to breathe.
“Rutting saints, that was close!” I shoot Maraud an accusing glance. “You did not tell me your knife trick was so easily recognized.”
“No, but I did tell you that coming here was a bad idea. I just didn’t realize how bad.”
* * *
There are a few pockets of soldiers in the stable yard, but most seem to be heading toward the castle or the garrison. I motion for Maraud to follow, and we step from the shadows, walking purposefully, but not so fast as to draw attention to ourselves.
When at last we reach the shelter of the stables, there are no torches and only a few lanterns—the muted light as welcome as a mother’s arms.
My relief is short-lived, however, when I see just how many men are loitering in here. More men—travel-stained and loud—swagger into our path. Without a word, Maraud turns on his heel and disappears down a row of stalls so that I am left facing them alone.
Coward, I think to myself. I stride forward, keeping my steps confident and frowning as if I am in deep thought.
The ploy works. The men spare me but a passing glance. I wait until they are at the main door before slipping into the second-to-the-last row of stalls. There are no soldiers or stable hands here. When I reach the sixth stall, I stop, press myself against its door, and give a soft, low whistle. Two black ears swivel in my direction. She remembers!
“Hello, Gallopine,” I croon softly.
The horse swings her head around and swishes her tail as I let myself in. She whickers softly, nostrils fluttering as she takes in my scent.
I step forward and give her a firm rub along her back. When she does not object, I move my hand up to her forehead, and her ears flop out to the side. “I’ve missed you.” I let my words blow gently against her nostrils. She butts me gently with her head.
“I am sorry I have not been able to visit, but you and I are going on a trip now.” I give her a final pat, then go to the wall and lift her harness from the hook.
Wondering what is taking Maraud so long, I loop the harness over her head and fit the bit into her mouth. I do not want to waste time searching for him, but it is a large stable and he didn’t see which row I turned into. With a grunt, I lift the saddle off its stand and turn to place it on Gallopine’s back, nearly dropping it when I see Count Angoulême himself, standing in the doorway, two men at arms at his back.
?Chapter 66
enevieve.” The count’s voice is deep with authority and laced with annoyance, his face unreadable in the faint light.
Rutting goats! “I thought you were spending Christmas up north,” I say.
“I was, but was worried about you and Louise and changed my mind.” Of all the times for Angoulême to be struck by consideration for others.
I force a laugh as I carry the saddle over to Gallopine. “Is that why you need reinforcements?” Uneasy at the sudden tension in the room, Gallopine stomps her foot and raises her tail as I settle the saddle onto her back.
“When I saw you with the mummer troupe, I was uncertain you were with them by choice.”
I toss him a scornful glance. “You believe a handful of mummers could force me to perform against my will?” I shake my head. “Have no worries. I chose to travel with them.” None of the choices you offered me held any appeal, I almost tell him, then stop as another idea takes root. “Actually, I was coming to find you.”
“What?”
“Louise and the babe are not well. Louise did not want to bother you, and your men would not let me leave on my own. This was the only way I could think to fetch you.”
There is a whisper of movement, a rasp of sound behind him, but I keep my eyes on his face. He takes a step into the stall, stopping when Gallopine lifts her rear leg. “What is wrong with the babe? Has a doctor been sent for?” His eyes narrow with suspicion. “And why didn’t you wait in the hall to give me this news?”
“I did not say it was the only reason I am here.”
There is a second movement, this one loud enough that Angoulême turns around, reaching for the weapon at his hip.
But too late. An arm crashes down, bringing the hilt of a sword to connect solidly with the back of Angoulême’s skull.
The count’s eyes roll up in his head, and he crumples into the straw. Behind him, his two companions are similarly laid out on the ground. I glance up at Maraud. “I thought you were hiding.”
“I was. That last group we passed were men I’d fought with before. Didn’t want them to see my face.” He reaches down and relieves one of the soldiers of his belt and sword and fastens them around his hips. Then he kneels down to retrieve a second sword from the other unconscious guard.
“Two?”
“I’ve been without weapons for a year. I will not pass up any I find lying around.”
I shake my head and turn back to Angoulême’s crumpled figure. I feel nothing. No, that is not true. I feel relief. “Is he dead?”
“Saints, no!” Maraud sounds insulted. “He is just out for a while. Although, depending on the thickness of his skull, it might not be for very long.”
“Then let’s quit talking.” I nimbly step over the fallen bodies and lead Maraud to the next stall. “This is your horse—Mogge.”
At the sound of my voice, Mogge’s head swings around. I put out my hand, her velvet nose taking in my scent. She keeps snuffling, her muzzle swinging to my left, looking for someone else.
Understanding comes like a blow. Looking for her mistress—for Margot. Just when I am certain my heart is fully protected, some new sliver of pain finds its way in.
Maraud reaches around me to let Mogge sniff at him. Interested in this new scent, Mogge steps closer and lets him whisper something in her ear as he rubs her forehead. The quickness with which she takes to him stings a little. “Her tack is on the wall. Get her saddled so we can leave before Angoulême wakes up.”
Back in Gallopine’s stall, I retrieve my pack and fish out one of the small silver boxes I carry. Just a tiny bit to ensure the count sleeps until we are well away. I take a pinch between my fingers, lean close to his face, and blow. I hold my own breath and quickly step away, moving on to his two fallen guards to do the same. Just as I am putting the lid back onto the silver box, Maraud emerges from the stall, leading Mogge. He glances from my hands down to the soldiers. “You poisoned them?”
“Only a little. Just to ensure they cannot raise an alarm until we are well clear of the city.”
He shoots me one of his piercing looks that are as effective as any arrow in exposing my weaknesses, then takes Mogge’s reins and leads her toward the end of the row. I stuff the night whispers in my pack, take Gallopine’s reins, and follow. Or try to. When I reach the end of the stalls, Mogge comes to a complete halt. Next to her, Maraud is still as stone.
Scowling in annoyance, I start to step around him, but am halted by a newly familiar voice. “Well, Anton Crunard. I was right. It was you who taught the mummer girl that trick.”